Chance Encounter
The smell of freshly ground coffee beans filled the tiny café, wrapping the morning in a warm, comforting aroma. Outside, the city was still waking up—footsteps echoed on the wet pavement, cars hummed along the street, and a soft drizzle fell from the cloudy sky.
Elena Cruz adjusted her apron and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she scribbled an order on her notepad. Her shift had only started an hour ago, but she already felt the familiar ache in her feet. Still, she smiled at every customer who walked in. That was her rule—no matter how tired she was, kindness cost nothing.
The bell above the café door chimed. She looked up.
The man who stepped inside was unlike anyone she'd ever seen in person. Tall, with broad shoulders that filled out his dark suit perfectly, he moved with a quiet confidence that demanded attention. His hair was neatly styled, a shade of deep brown that caught the light as he shook off the rain. But it was his eyes—stormy gray and sharply focused—that made her breath catch.
He didn't glance around the café like most customers. His gaze found hers immediately, as if he'd known she would be there.
Elena forced herself to look away, grabbing her notepad. "Good morning, sir. What can I get for you?"
He walked toward the counter, each step steady and deliberate. "Black coffee. Strong." His voice was smooth, deep—one of those voices that made you want to lean closer, just to hear it again.
"Right away." She turned to prepare the drink, but her hands felt clumsy under his gaze. Reaching for the coffee pot, she realized she hadn't set a cup on the counter yet. In her rush to grab one, her elbow knocked against the pot's handle.
It happened in a blur.
Hot coffee sloshed forward, splattering against his perfectly pressed suit jacket.
"Oh my God!" Elena gasped, grabbing a handful of napkins. "I'm so, so sorry—"
The man stepped back, glancing down at his suit, then at her. She braced herself for anger, for the sharp tone she'd heard from impatient customers before. But instead, a small, almost amused smile curved his lips.
"It's fine," he said calmly, taking the napkins from her hands. "No permanent damage."
She stared at him, baffled. "But your suit—"
"Is just fabric. You look more upset about it than I am." He dabbed at the coffee stain, then set the napkins aside. "What's your name?"
The question caught her off guard. "Elena."
"Elena…" he repeated, as if testing how her name felt in his mouth. "I'm Adrian."
Something about the way he said it made her pulse quicken. He didn't just tell her his name—he gave it to her, like a key she didn't yet understand.
"I'll get you another coffee. On the house," she said quickly, desperate to make up for her clumsy mistake.
Adrian's smile deepened. "Only if you promise not to spill this one."
She couldn't help it—she laughed, and he chuckled too, a warm sound that made her chest tighten.
When she handed him the cup, their fingers brushed. The contact was brief, but it sent a spark up her arm that left her momentarily breathless. Adrian's gaze held hers for a second longer than necessary, and Elena had the strange feeling he was memorizing her face.
He took a sip of the coffee, then nodded in approval. "Better than most places I've been. I might have to come back."
She tried to keep her tone light. "We'll be here."
He gave her one last look before stepping out into the rain, disappearing into the city.
Elena stood there for a moment, heart still racing, wondering why a stranger's smile felt like the beginning of something she shouldn't want—but did.
What she didn't know was that Adrian Cole rarely visited the same place twice. But tomorrow, he'd be back.